


a prayer and a please (a stick and a line)

by anakinleias



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, It's not what you think, Light Angst, baby fever made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakinleias/pseuds/anakinleias
Summary: It’s not the first time she’s seen him look impassive, drawing up his own walls, but it is the first time that chilling look is aimed at her. Her eyes well up and she barely hears his muttered “congratulations” as Scott hands her the stick before he gets up and walks away, leaving her alone in a bathroom stall clutching a pregnancy test.





	a prayer and a please (a stick and a line)

**Author's Note:**

> I already had this story in my mind for the longest time but lacked enough motivation to figure out how to write it until yesterday when the elon gc was talking about intimacy and virtuesmoirs asked me to write "first time they pee in front of each other". It's not what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy, and thank you.
> 
> All mistakes are mine. For once this is unedited so feel free to point them out.

She’s rocking nervously from side to side, weight shifting from foot to foot as she waits for him to open the box. He sits in front of her on the floor and she drops her underwear down to her ankles, too nervous to care. They’ve seen each other through various stages of undress and compromising situations – he still walks behind her checking her for blood when she’s on her period, and she’s felt every single one of his teenage boners.  

He passes her the open box silently and she shakes off the contents into her palm before sinking down with a sigh. Their eyes meet and she can feel beads of sweat forming on her hairline. Bringing her hand between her legs, she positions the stick as he throws his head back against the wall, eyes closing as he waits.  

It’s barely a trickle, as if her bladder is suddenly shy and not full to bursting. She moans in despair, her own eyes closing. It’s _Scott_. She asked him to be here.  

And then she smiles, momentarily forgetting her current plight as the not-quite-metaphorical floodgates open. She doesn’t even consider this to be strange, the idea not once crossing her mind as he sat on the floor of the locker room in front of her bathroom stall, holding a box that could change her life.  

She finishes wiping and pulls her underwear back up, closing the toilet lid and flushing. She walks over his legs and takes her time covering the short distance to the sink, washing her hands and taking precisely two paper towels to dry them, then a third to dab at the sweat on her forehead and upper lip.

Walking back over to the stall, she sits on the closed toilet lid, leaning her elbows against her knees and cupping her chin with her hands. She looks at him, and he's looking at her.

And they wait. 

They stay like this, just looking at each other. She can see the strain in his eyes, the worry creasing his forehead. He brings a hand to the bridge of his nose, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and she can almost feel the tension headache he’s fighting.

He can see the tight set of her jaw, the way her shoulders are drawn in like she’s protecting herself from whatever’s coming, making a concentrated effort to not look at the box sitting by his side.

When his phone goes off, it feels like a gunshot.

She jumps, vision momentarily going dark around the edges as her heart pounds in her chest. Her eyes widen and she can feel hysterical laughter bubbling out of her when he hits his head on the wall behind him, startled by her reaction.

Rubbing the back of his head, he reaches one hand out to his phone and the laughter dies in her throat. He taps the screen and the beeping stops. He looks back up at her and she shakes her head, a denial strangled in her throat.

_You_   _look._

Tessa’s holding her breath as his hand lifts the stick, pulling at the toilet paper and uncovering her future. 

His face reveals nothing as his eyes decipher the results and it feels like an eternity when he looks at her again. 

It’s not the first time she’s seen him look impassive, drawing up his own walls, but it is the first time that chilling look is aimed at her. Her eyes well up and she barely hears his muttered “congratulations” as Scott hands her the stick before he gets up and walks away, leaving her alone in a bathroom stall clutching a pregnancy test. 

Crying in earnest, Tessa’s hoping for the best but fearing the worst when she finally dares to look down.  

_Negative._  

She wraps it in toilet paper again, putting it back inside the box and storing the box safely in her bag. 

Turning around, she lifts the toilet lid again and promptly vomits. 

By the time she cleans up and exits the bathroom, he’s warming up on the ice. Lacing her skates, she joins him and they run through their free dance. 

Tessa tries not to cry whenever Marina screams “more passion” as Scott looks through her and the speakers blast “mon amour, ne me quitte pas”. 

 

 

-

 

 

His fingers shake as he struggles with the box in his hands, pulling at the lip with such force that it opens a tear halfway down the box. He can’t bring himself to care, shaking off the contents and setting aside the remains of cardboard on the floor beside his splayed legs. 

She’s in front of him again, hand extended silently asking for the stick, a calm contrast to his anxiety. 

He places it in her hand and she wraps her fingers around his briefly, trying to instill some of her calm into him. It doesn’t work. Sitting on the toilet, Tessa gives him a look when his leg starts jiggling nervously, and he stops, chagrinned. She holds the stick between her legs at a distance, finally knowing better than to have an extremely full bladder for this. 

She smiles, distinctly remembering the last time being the first time she ever peed in front of him, how despite the strain in their partnership and relationship, still not recovered from the aftermath of surgery, she couldn’t bring herself to worry or care about yet another moment of being in each other’s space, sharing too much. It’s not like she cares now either, considering how they arrived at this exact situation over a decade later. 

When she’s done, she shakes it lightly before wrapping it in toilet paper, passing it to him. He pointedly sets it down between them as she goes about cleaning up and flushing before she gets up to wash her hands. 

He waits for her to come back before starting the stopwatch app on his phone, and she sits beside him on the floor. 

They’ve been here before, in a different time at a different bathroom, waiting for an answer that could change their future. Not just hers. Not since she was eight and decided to take his hand and not let go. 

She opens her mouth to speak and finds no words coming out. Turns out she’s not as calm as she expected, now that all there is to do is wait. Scott is obviously a nervous wreck, it’s clear as day. He’s always been an open book and she’s spent over two decades reading his every sentence. She finds the feeling of butterflies in her stomach for a different reason this time around. 

Anticipation. Excitement. 

She tries not to let her imagination go too far as she looks around her pristine white bathroom, picturing the bathtub full of bubbles and floating toys, the delighted sound of a baby’s laughter ringing through the walls. 

The fantasy melts away as he reaches for her hand, his left to her right, coming out of wherever he momentarily went. She shifts, letting her head fall against his shoulder and he intertwines their fingers, bringing it to his mouth before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. He turns his head to look down at her, resting their hands over his chest and the morning light makes his ring glint. 

Looking at him, Tessa can’t help but marvel at the stark contrast of the picture they paint. Both nervous in their own way, same as last time, but now united. Hoping for the same outcome but without dreading the alternative. 

Scott bends his head lower and presses his lips to hers, feather-light. Closing her eyes, she brings her left hand to cup his cheek, kissing him back lightly, running her thumb over the shell of his ear as he sighs against her mouth. They stay like this, waiting, in their own little bubble, half listening for the alarm. 

When it goes off, they pull away and she places a kiss on his bicep before reaching wordlessly for the stick as he turns off the sound. Moment of truth. 

She brings it close, slowly unwrapping the toilet paper around it like it’s a Christmas present, carefully checking the marker. She knows the exact moment he sees it, because he inhales sharply beside her, the sound mingling with her own gasp. 

They look up at each other at the same time and she can see the tears already running down Scott’s cheeks, knows they match the ones in her eyes. 

_Positive._  

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Negative by Waitress the musical.
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated, as are kudos and comments.


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